Tacet II: Dawn
by Marguerite1
Summary: Post-ep for "Posse Comitatus," #2 in a series of 4


TACET II: DAWN  
  
Classification: Post-ep for "Posse Comitatus"  
Summary: "I'm so sorry, he doesn't say aloud, but CJ hears him anyway."  
  
***   
Tacet II: Dawn   
***  
  
Josh doesn't want to do anything but listen to them breathe.  
  
Amy stands by his side, straining to hear as Sam gives him the bad news from a  
hundred miles away, up in the air, his voice hushed and reverent.  
  
It's impossible, Josh thinks as he holds on to the phone with cold, nerveless  
fingers. He's been so shaken over the idea that someone could want to hurt CJ -  
there's no way he could've seen this coming. Besides, hadn't Leo called a while  
ago and said they'd gotten the guy? But there are too many guys to get, and  
Simon Donovan has just found that out the hard way.  
  
Of course the call is from Air Force One. Sam tells him that CJ's alone in the  
conference room and Toby stands guard over her privacy. They'll land in an hour,  
all but Ron, who's supervising the investigation, and Simon's body, which is at  
the coroner's office for an autopsy.  
  
Josh tells Sam that he'll go to Andrews and meet them.  
  
There's too much security, Sam warns. The agents are wound up tighter than a  
cheap watch, and there's something going on that Leo won't tell anyone. He and  
the President are holed up in private. This can't be good.  
  
So Josh decides to wait at the office. He hands the phone back to Amy, who  
watches him with wary, dark eyes. She seems smaller without the aura of  
indignation. He tells her about the robbery and about CJ. She asks if he's okay  
- not because he knew Simon well, because he really didn't, but because Amy  
probably suspects that there's something about that kind of wound that will  
always make his breathing become labored. He shrugs and leans over to kiss her.  
It's not tender. Not needy. Only Josh could kiss absentmindedly.  
  
When he gets outside Amy's building he doesn't remember leaving it. There's a  
hint of cherry blossom in the night air. Underneath is the tang of sulfur, or  
maybe that's an olfactory hallucination. Stanley's in town; Josh thinks he ought  
to call him and ask about whether he's stopped hearing things and started  
smelling things. He walks for three or four blocks before he realizes that there  
are cabs buzzing around him. He lifts a hand to signal one, tells the driver  
where he's going.  
  
At this hour? the driver's expression seems to ask, so Josh pulls out his wallet  
to show the I.D. card. No terrorist, he. Just this guy, whose friend is in pain.  
  
He shows the I.D. again at the main gate. There are more agents around than  
normal, probably because of whatever Sam was talking about. In fact, there are  
more people outside than in tonight. Donna's gone, asleep, unaware. It's just  
him tonight, pacing from office to office, racketing around all by himself.  
  
Simon's photo is on the news already. Josh turns up the volume on one of the  
half-dozen sets in the bullpen. It's deja vu. He'd watched the endless stream of  
videotape during his recuperation. The difference is that when it had been his  
photo on the news, he wasn't quite dead. Didn't die, after all.  
  
Had it been like this for them two springs ago? He ponders that while scanning  
the other channels for their coverage. Sam had said the press corps on the plane  
was incredibly respectful, but the network media is showing no such scruples  
with their video of an agonized CJ being guided to the motorcade between Sam and  
Toby. He wonders again: had it been like this for them two springs ago?  
  
Movement in the hall. They're back. They've come home. CJ is wearing Toby's  
jacket over her gown but she's still shivering. Her face is an enigma, wan and  
tight and expressionless. Josh wants to touch her arm but he doesn't know how to  
be gentle enough to keep from breaking her.  
  
Carol is walking behind them, looking stricken. Josh can't hold CJ in his arms  
but he can console Carol with a hug. She arches into his embrace like a cat,  
then goes to do whatever she can for her boss. Sam and Toby pull Josh aside. Sam  
is worried because CJ hasn't cried. Toby thinks she has, though, back when she  
first heard. That's how she does these things, he tells them. Alone. And only  
once.  
  
When CJ emerges she has car keys in her hand. Simon had replaced the parts he'd  
pulled out. Just an hour before they left, he'd done it. His hands, warm and  
alive, putting bits of Mustang back in place. The three men follow CJ to the car  
and she stands shivering in the surprisingly cool May air. The reddish gold hair  
on her arms is downy over the gooseflesh, and her hands shake as she points the  
key at the lock. Something is keeping her from touching the car.  
  
They go in Sam's car instead. It's the most reliable. The safest.  
  
They don't talk as Sam guides them through the starless night. CJ won't talk;  
neither will she bend. She won't break. Not even when they get to her place and  
she lets the men into her living room, tottering a little on high heels that  
don't work well with flight-swollen feet. She sits on the sofa, staring straight  
ahead, and Toby sits by her side, close enough that she can surely sense his  
warmth.  
  
Sam putters around in the unused kitchen until he finds tea. Chamomile, Josh  
notes. Isn't that what women drink when they want to feel better? He'd feel  
better if there were something he could do. So Toby is the watchdog and Sam the  
caregiver. What is Josh, as he stands behind the sofa and observes the muscular  
curve of CJ's back? What is his role?  
  
He crosses in front of the sofa and sits on his heels. CJ looks down at him,  
lost, eyes vacant. He takes her hands and brings them to his lips. I'm so sorry,  
he doesn't say aloud, but CJ hears him anyway. She moves her right hand down to  
his chest. Fifth intercostal space. He lived; Simon died.  
  
CJ leans toward Josh until their foreheads touch. They've kissed once. It was  
after a long fundraiser, sweetly, drunkenly, just-this-side of brother and  
sister. CJ had tasted like champagne that night, and said Josh, like all men,  
tasted like coffee. Josh wonders if she'll ever be able to bear the taste of  
coffee or of a man's lips again. He knows she will. This is CJ. His CJ, their  
CJ.  
  
Sam passes tea around in white ceramic mugs. Too much sugar. It'd hurt Sam's  
feelings if anyone said so. They all take little sips. Josh feels the warmth  
coursing through him and the steam brings moisture to his eyes. It takes away  
the bitter edge.  
  
A Valium ends up in CJ's hands. Sam has given it to her, straight from a bottle  
in his jacket. Sam carries Valium? But CJ doesn't question it. She takes the  
pill, swallows it dry and washes it down with sweet Sam's sweet tea. Bizarre  
communion, pills and chamomile.  
  
After a while, when CJ's body uncoils, Toby leads her to the bedroom. CJ is still  
in her evening gown but Toby takes off her shoes and places them at the side of  
the bed. He toes off his own shoes as well. Toby looks like newsprint in his  
tuxedo, all black-and-white and so clearly readable. Guilty. His jealousy had  
been palpable. He'd been envious of this dashing man who was being paid to stand  
in front of a bullet for CJ. Toby'd have done it for free. Would've paid for the  
privilege. Now his rival's dead and Toby, who was born for the burden of  
self-awareness, is surely blaming himself for turning God's odds against Simon.  
  
CJ asks Toby to sit with her a while. Apologizes to Sam and Josh, but she just  
can't stay awake anymore even though she's terrified about what she'll dream.  
Besides, it'll be morning soon and she'll have to do the briefing. Just a few  
hours, maybe a little rest, some sleep, perchance.  
  
Toby pulls up the little damask-covered chair and sits like a statue of some  
literary figure pondering an eternal mystery. Bearded marble. He holds CJ's hand  
until it relaxes and stops trembling.  
  
At the kitchen table, Sam sits with his head down on his folded arms. With a  
voice like broken glass, Josh asks if this is what it had been like. He doesn't  
have to explain that he's talking about Rosslyn. Did it feel like this?  
  
Yes. Helpless. Afraid.  
  
Josh had missed this feeling the first time. He'd been too busy breathing and  
bleeding. It's easier to bleed than wait, he decides. Certainly easier to bleed  
than mourn.  
  
A few minutes later they smile wanly at each other when they hear the soft  
rumble of Toby's snore. Josh peers into the bedroom and sees Toby leaning  
sideways in the chair, his fingers still lightly threaded through CJ's. But he  
doesn't get to tell Sam about it, because Sam's succumbed to the late hour and  
has fallen quietly asleep - even his breathing is orderly and neat - at the  
table.  
  
So Josh stands in the doorway. He's the one who's awake this time, silent, hands  
behind his back. Dawn touches them through the airy curtains at CJ's windows,  
but they don't waken and Josh doesn't want to do anything but listen to them  
breathe.  
  
***   
END   
***   
  
Feedback would be welcome at marguerite@swbell.net .  
Back to West Wing . 


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